iKlawa by Donald Mead
Donald Mead's debut in our pages is a remarkable effort, a blend of history and fantasy that takes us into Zulu territory during the days of British colonial expansion. 
A criminologist by education, Mr. Mead now works in the finance department of an auto manufacturer (thus proving, he says, that his grandmother was right about crime not paying). He lives, works and writes in Bloomington, Illinois. His previous credits include a couple of stories in a small online magazine and his interview of Joe Haldeman was published in Strange Horizons. He is working on more short stories and is marketing a series of novels tentatively entitled Feral Wizards.
* * * *
"Let's make love, Cetshwayo."
Ngqumbazi untied a knot and her beaded cape drifted off her shoulders. She folded the cape before placing it in the corner of the hut with her headpiece. Last of all, she removed her hip belt and skirt, all masterpieces of beaded decoration.
Cetshwayo's eyes followed her as she moved. In better times he would have been in a rush, helping her with the knots. But his own royal symbols were weighing heavily, and he could do no more than lift his head from the grass mat to watch.
Ngqumbazi flitted around a post and made for the candles. Cetshwayo raised his hand. "No. Leave them burning. Sihayo and the Great Ones might be back tonight. I want them to see the light and come by the hut."
She smiled, knelt and scooted on her knees to his side. "But I don't want anyone to come knocking tonight."She stretched out on her belly and draped an arm over his chest. "I've told the other wives to stay in their huts. It's just you and me, serenaded by the lowing of the cattle."
Cetshwayo felt a smile flicker on his face. Ngqumbazi's skin was as smooth as otter fur. He traced his fingers up her arm to the copper rings just above her elbow. "You forgot to take your coils off."
Ngqumbazi shook her head. "I didn't forget. And I left my anklets on too."She curled a leg upward so Cetshwayo could see the adornment. The poor light from the candles was not enough to make out the colors, but he knew they could only be green and black beads woven in squares--the same pattern as her cape and headpiece. It was the royal pattern established in Shaka's day when he placed Zulus above all of the Nguni tribes.
Ngqumbazi let her leg drop. "I like the sound they make when we indulge our passion. Like wind through ripe millet."
Cetshwayo touched her face. "You are so beautiful."
She grabbed his fingers and kissed them. "Beautiful enough to blow out the candles?"
Cetshwayo shook his head. "I can't ... the Great Ones."
Ngqumbazi lost her smile. "They can wait. You're king. There are plenty of huts in Ulundi they can sleep in until morning."
What could he say? She would be angry with any answer. Men were left with the fighting and dying. Not women.
She laid her head on his chest
Cetshwayo pretended not to notice her leg curl up by his side and her hand creep down to one of her anklets. It was a surreptitious, well-practiced movement. Cetshwayo guessed she had been using the magic for years before he had figured it out. He could have destroyed the anklet long ago, but the effects of the spell were always pleasant.
"I am the leopardess,"she cooed.
Ngqumbazi always made the strange declaration before love-making. He used to think it was meant to stir his passion--no doubt what she wanted him to think--but it was just part of the spell casting.
Indeed, there was an immediate stirring, but tonight was not the night for coupling. He touched a beaded string on his loin covering and mouthed silent words, "I am the tortoise."
The stirring subsided. It was only a matter of time before Ngqumbazi discovered that he had found a counterspell.
Her words turned curt. "Are you feeling sick?"
Cetshwayo rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I've felt better."
She pulled his hands away from his eyes. "You look exhausted. Aren't you sleeping well?"
"No. Nightmares."
"Tell me."
He sighed. "The same every night. I'm standing on the ocean's shore in Ombane province and the water turns to blood."
Ngqumbazi shivered and pulled a wool blanket over the both of them. "It could be our enemy's blood."
He helped her with the blanket until they were both snug underneath. "It could be Zulu blood."
"Zulus are used to dying,"Ngqumbazi said. "That's what my father used to say."
"I haven't ordered war since I became king."
"But before you were king...."
Cetshwayo shut his eyes, but there was no stopping the memories. No one could be as brutal as his uncle, Shaka. His father had explained that clearly. But one day when he was still a prince, Cetshwayo and his faction....
He turned on his side toward Ngqumbazi, keeping his eyes closed.
Ngqumbazi tugged at his loin covering, but he stopped her. "Before I became king, my men and I slaughtered my brother's faction--twenty thousand dead. A battlefield of slit bellies."
"But if you hadn't.... "Ngqumbazi seemed to realize his burden, the weight of his memories. "If you hadn't, your brother would've killed you. It's only a shame that Mbulazi got away."
"It doesn't matter,"said Cetshwayo. "He has no more followers, no more cattle."
"I'm sure he's behind this trouble with the British."
Cetshwayo shook his head. "Not him. It's something to do with Sihayo. He sent his brother into Natal to kidnap two of his runaway wives. Then he executed them both for cheating on him."
He felt Ngqumbazi shiver again even though it was quite warm under the blanket.
A flash and crack of thunder caused Cetshwayo to kick off the blanket.
Ngqumbazi threw her arms around his neck and pinned him back on the mat. "Where do you think you're going?"
Cetshwayo stared at her, not sure if she was joking. "The cattle--"
"Dinuzulu is attending the cattle tonight. I've seen to that too."
"But he's only eleven."
"He's a Zulu prince with a hundred men at his command; I think he'll manage."
Ngqumbazi retrieved the blanket as Cetshwayo settled back onto the mat. There was no fighting it.
He groaned as rain began to pound the roof. "Curse the weather. Either too little water or too much. The drought should've ended us all last year."
Ngqumbazi snuggled back on his chest. "And the rain this year won't stop."
Cetshwayo snorted. "At least the crops look better this year--if they're not drowned."
"Reverend Robertson says water will save us--wash away our sins. He baptized me last month."
He turned his head to look at her. "Learning the white man's religion from the fat parson?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Well, nothing I suppose."Cetshwayo turned his eyes back toward the roof and grinned. "If you like being preached to by a sinner."
"What's that supposed to mean? What makes you think he's a sinner?"
"John Dunn told me. He said Christians can only have one wife. The fat parson has fifty Zulu wives."Cetshwayo laughed. "And I can't even count his children!"
Ngqumbazi glared. "And how many Zulu wives does John Dunn have?"
"I don't know or care. He's my kind of sinner."Cetshwayo's humor faded. "He's the only white man who understands Zulus, our history, our ways. Do you think the fat parson really cares about us?"
Ngqumbazi paused but then spoke softly. "He disappeared a week ago. Left all his wives and children."
Cetshwayo closed his eyes. "He knows something about the British. He's running for cover."
More lightning and thunder.
"I don't want to fight the British,"he said. "It'll be much worse than fighting the Boers."
Ngqumbazi raised her head. "Hush! You don't want the warriors to think you have weak feet."
Cetshwayo gave an empty laugh. "My own brother tried to assassinate me, and my half-brothers are plotting against me. I lost two food testers last year. No one can call me a coward."
"Why don't you move against Zibhebhu and Hamu--wipe them out?"
"No cause. Not yet, at least. The Great Ones won't support me."Cetshwayo opened his eyes and looked at her. "The British issue comes first. Even my half-brothers know that. There'll be plenty of time for feuds afterward."
Ngqumbazi's eyes softened. "And what do you have time for now?"She touched her anklet again. "I am the leopardess."
Cetshwayo declined the counterspell and smiled. "Blow out the candles."
* * * *
Cetshwayo cradled his face in his hands. "What does it mean?"
The chiefs and Great Ones crowded in his hut gave no answer. Rain battered the roof.
He looked up and leaned back against a mud wall.
Sihayo shrugged. His ostrich-feather headdress drooped around his eyes, waterlogged by his long march in the rain. "The British think they own everything. What they have is never enough. They always want more. They're as bad as the Boers."
Old Tshingwayo shook his head. He had discarded his headdress and all of his furs in favor of a dry blanket, which he had fully wrapped himself in. Sitting, he looked like a tree stump with a weathered, gray-haired head on top. His only adornment was the head-ring of a married man. "I can understand the Boers. They want land for farming and cattle. The British? I don't know what they hope to gain by bullying the Zulu."
Hamu yawned and scratched his bulging belly. "I'm hungry."
"Meat and millet beer are on the way. Be patient."Cetshwayo realized his half-brother had arrived without his food tester. He could poison the fat schemer now and be done with him, but he might need Hamu's warriors if there was a war with the British. His other half-brother, Zibhebhu, was in his province with his warriors awaiting orders--at least he was supposed to be.
Cetshwayo turned back to Tshingwayo. "Tell it again."
The twenty or so chiefs who were visiting during this time of crisis sat along the far wall, Cetshwayo's hut being the only one large enough to accommodate so many. Although not Great Ones, they leaned closer to listen.
Tshingwayo's arm snaked out of his blanket to scratch his head. "We met at the Christian mission across the Tugela River just out of Zululand. John Dunn was there to translate. And the British--some were red soldiers. Others wore..."Tshingwayo paused to form his tongue around foreign words, "...trousers and coats. Much finer than what the Boers wear. We sat and listened."
The old man stopped as trays were brought in, each bearing its weight in spiced goat meat, sliced melon, and bowls of steaming hot beer.
Sihayo took up the story as they began grabbing food. "At first, it was good news--the Commission ruled in our favor in the border fight with the Boers."
Hamu laughed between gulps of beer. "One thing the British are good for--they can keep the Boers out of Zululand."
"But then came their demands."Sihayo stopped his perusal of the food and looked at Cetshwayo. "Demands from the great white queen."
All stopped eating and stared at Cetshwayo.
He set down his bowl of beer. "And their queen dictates to the Zulu king?"
"Those are their words, not ours,"said Tshingwayo.
"And they want cattle?"
Sihayo sneered. "A fine for my brother sneaking into Natal for my two wives. They also want my brother. Ha!"
"You don't have to turn over your brother to the British,"said Cetshwayo. "He didn't do anything wrong."
Sihayo turned back to the food tray and mumbled. "Stupid British!"
"And they demand that chiefs carry out no more executions without a trial and an appeal to you,"said Tshingwayo.
Cetshwayo could see several chiefs look up from the feast. He shook his head. "How can I tell a chief what to do in his own province--within his own clan? The British think I'm like Shaka--total rule. Things have changed so much since then."
Tshingwayo nodded. Cetshwayo knew his friend could attest directly to that fact. The old warrior, now Great One, had survived the terror of Shaka fifty years ago and had the scars to prove it.
"And they say you can no longer call together the impi,"said Sihayo.
Hamu looked up from a piece of roasted goat. "They would want that, wouldn't they? Forty thousand armed Zulus! They'd drop their rifles and swim home to their great white queen."
They all laughed.
Cetshwayo fell silent. He could not appear weak in front of the Great Ones and chiefs, but war with the British was a deadly way to prove one's bravery.
"To give in is to stop being Zulu,"he said.
"To fight is to risk great loss,"said Tshingwayo. "Look what the British did to the Gaika, the Gealeka, and the Hottentots. Crushed. They even shoot Bushmen just for sport!"
Hamu dropped his beer bowl with a clatter and turned to Cetshwayo. "They weren't Zulu! The British haven't been in a real fight yet. Let them feel the thrust of the iKlawa and then they'll leave us alone."
"We could just pay the fine,"Sihayo said. "Send them the cattle and see if that will suit them."
"Maybe,"Tshingwayo said. "Cattle are valuable. It might be enough for them to forget the rest of their demands."
Cetshwayo nodded. "And if we're wrong?"
Hamu leaned back, bracing his bulk on his arms. "If we're wrong we have forty thousand Zulus who will sweep them from the field."
Cetshwayo shook his head. Hamu lacked the experience to see the deadly implications of his words.
Shouting near the hut's entrance caused several of the chiefs to reach for spears. A woman, tall and powerful, leveraged herself into the hut. She was dragging along an Ulundi warrior who had both hands latched onto her arm and was straining to pull her in the opposite direction.
The warrior, his white oxtail necklace half torn off, glanced wide-eyed at the assemblage. "Forgive me,"he said between labored breaths. "I don't know how this woman got past the other warriors. I'll have her out of here in no time."
Cetshwayo snickered. Despite the warrior's words, the woman was having her way with him. She stood a full head taller, bracing her tree-like frame on legs of sinew and muscle. The copper coils around her arms rang as she yanked the young warrior along. The blue and green bead pattern on her throat collar and hip belt suggested she came from far away, perhaps as far as Msinga. She was fully a woman, with wide hips and breasts as sharp as iKlawa. Cetshwayo guessed her to be nearly thirty years old, although she still wore the small apron of a single girl.
"Cetshwayo."Tshingwayo nudged him and pointed at the woman's headpiece. It was long like flowing hair and drifted down her back and around her shoulders--no doubt ox hair dyed black. It was decorated with hundreds of white beads, making it look like the midnight sky full of stars.
Tshingwayo leaned close and whispered. "A diviner."
There was no such thing as coincidence where diviners were concerned. "Let her go,"Cetshwayo said.
The warrior released his weak grip on her arm.
She drew back her hand as if to strike him, sending him whimpering out the hut's door.
Sihayo picked up his iKlawa and pointed it at her. "What's your business? You've got a lot of nerve to interrupt the king and the Great Ones!"
Cetshwayo gathered a more telling view of her as she approached and bent down to her knees. Indeed she was from Msinga, the Umzansi clan, with ostrich egg-sized disks stretching her earlobes wide and beaded ropes for bracelets. A petite pug nose and almond-shaped eyes were also unusual for Zulus. She was beautiful.
She stretched to a belly-crawl, perhaps aware that her life was not her own in this place. "Forgive my rudeness, but it is urgent. I must talk to King Cetshwayo alone."
Cetshwayo resisted the urge to dismiss the Great Ones and chiefs. "What is good for my ears is also good for the ears of all Zulus. What's your name?"
The woman raised her head and studied him for a moment. "Nokukhanya of the Umzansi."
"You fought well just to have a discussion with me. It must be important."
"The highest importance. The survival of the Zulus."
Hamu gave the diviner a glare and turned to Cetshwayo. "She's nothing more than a witch. You should send her off!"
Cetshwayo regarded the girl. Hamu was right. An ill-omen from a diviner could easily cause fear among the chiefs, especially those who put stock in mysticism. A prediction of great loss might make them hesitant to fight. A vision of victory might make them too eager. Whatever came from this woman's mouth meant losing influence over the Great Ones and chiefs.
"Out with her!"Cetshwayo bellowed.
Hamu leapt to his feet. He had considerably more experience with women than the little warrior the diviner had dragged about. Grabbing her arm and hip belt, he lifted her off the ground and carried her toward the entrance.
She shrieked and fought to look back. "Wait! I beg you for only a moment of your time! I know about your dream of the bloody ocean!"
"Stop!"The dream. Every night Cetshwayo had the same dream. It gnawed at him like a hyena. He had to know.
Hamu had stopped to look back but still held the girl.
Cetshwayo let out a breath. "Release her."
Clearly disappointed, Hamu dropped her and returned to his tray of goat meat.
The diviner crawled toward the group again, apprehension in her eyes. "You are wise to listen to me. War is ahead and Zulus need the blessing of the ancestors."
"What is your name again?"Cetshwayo asked.
"Nokukhanya, my king."
"And what do you know of my dreams?"
Nokukhanya gave a deep smile that caused a chill in Cetshwayo's spine. "An ocean of blood, my king. Caused by British rifles."
Hamu's eyes flashed. "Zulus aren't afraid to die."
Nokukhanya looked at the fat man, but her smile never wavered. "Your blood is in that ocean too, Hamu. As is that of your wives, sons, and daughters."
Hamu sneered. "Witch lies!"
She turned back to Cetshwayo. "All Zulus."
Hamu's anger seemed overflowing. "So you're saying we should bow down to the British? To a white queen instead of a Zulu king? Abandon our traditions?"
Nokukhanya shook her head. "No. We must fight or something worse will happen--our ancestors will desert us."
Tshingwayo lowered his eyes. "So we're doomed no matter our path. Die in body one way, die in spirit the other."
Again, Nokukhanya shook her head. "There is a third way. A spirit in the shape of a lizard came to me one night and told me of a Zulu who might help."
"Might help?"said Cetshwayo. "I'll order him to help!"
Nokukhanya's grin broadened. "He is from the Cube clan."
"This story gets worse in the telling,"said Hamu. "Shaka was never able to defeat the Cube. Cetshwayo has no authority over them."
The woman shrugged. "He's a diviner. He'll help ... if the price is right."
Hamu scooted so he could lean back against the wall and folded his arms across his belly. "I knew we'd get to a price at some point."
Sihayo looked at Hamu. "So what if there's a price? If negotiations fail, it'll be war. If magic will help us avoid slaughter, then we should use it."
Hamu gritted his teeth. "It's sorcery! The war doctors will be furious!"
Cetshwayo turned to Tshingwayo. "What do you think, old friend? You must have looked into the face of death a thousand times in your seventy years. What should I do?"
Tshingwayo set down his beer. "I have weak feet when it comes to magic, and I have no doubt that this man she speaks of is a sorcerer, not a diviner."He sighed and pulled his blanket around himself. "But once Shaka ignored a sorcerer who told him to watch for cows with knives, and within a week, Shaka's brothers assassinated him while he was attending the cattle in the Ulundi corral. I advise that we negotiate with both the British and this sorcerer."His eyes narrowed. "And you should call up the impi."
Cetshwayo glanced around at the other Great Ones. Sihayo nodded. Hamu looked away, but finally nodded too. Several of the chiefs in the back of the room were also nodding, but their agreement was hardly needed.
"So be it."Cetshwayo looked down upon the woman. "And the name of this diviner and his village?"
Still on her belly, she stayed silent.
Cetshwayo fought back a curse. "What's your price?"
She gave him a twisted smile. "I will become your new Right Hand queen, Cetshwayo, and our son will inherit the Zulu throne."
* * * *
The iKlawa bursting from the entrance of Cetshwayo's hut was meant for his heart, but it was an unpracticed thrust. He grabbed the wielder's arms and pulled.
Ngqumbazi came spilling out with a cry, tumbling on the worn grass and losing grip of the weapon. She came to a rolling stop on her back.
Her spectacular fall caused a roar of laughter. The break in the rain had beckoned the whole village of Ulundi to venture out for work and play. Scores had witnessed the blundering attack, and the laughter was attracting even more to watch.
Three warriors, decidedly lacking in humor, came running from the corral, but Cetshwayo waved them off.
Ngqumbazi sat up and looked at the surrounding villagers, her mouth gaping. Her searching eyes landed on Cetshwayo, and a scowl took hold. The iKlawa was back in her hands in no time and her second charge was aimed at his chest.
Cetshwayo latched onto the wooden shaft of the iKlawa as he pivoted out of the way. This time, he kept the weapon as she went crashing to the ground.
Howls of laughter filled the village.
Cetshwayo smiled and approached, stopping well out of lunging distance. "You should stab to the belly, not the chest. The belly is harder to defend."
She looked up, grass and mud clinging to her sweaty body. Her face was chiseled hate. "I'll kill you. Sooner or later, I'll kill you!"
He leaned on the iKlawa. "And disappoint the British? They'll cut off the bead trade, and then what will you do?"
Fat tears leaked from her eyes. "I don't care what happens to me or to you! I won't see that woman as your new wife. I won't have another prince competing with Dinuzulu. He's the rightful heir."
Cetshwayo tired of the chattering crowd and sent them off with a shake of the iKlawa. "Dinuzulu is the rightful heir, indeed. He is the oldest and most capable by far."
"But that woman--that witch! She wants to lie by your side in my place as the Right Hand queen. She wants to be the mother of the next king."
Cetshwayo's smile waned. "Who told you that rubbish?"
"Ha! The truth nips at your heels."Ngqumbazi tried to sound triumphant, but there was only pain in her eyes. "Men talk to their wives. Wives talk to each other. Everyone in Ulundi knows the sordid details."
"Then you should know it's unlikely I'll marry her. If negotiations go well with the British, there will be no need to pursue our agreement."
Ngqumbazi's breathing had returned to normal. She stood, inspecting her bruises as she straightened. "And if negotiations fail, you will marry her just for a stray bit of information."
Cetshwayo shrugged. Part of him wanted negotiations to fail. The diviner, Nokukhanya, was beautiful and had a magnificent untouched body. But that was a dangerous wish. Failed negotiations meant a battlefield of dead Zulus--his nightmare of an ocean of blood. "Don't worry. Even if I do marry her and she bears a male child, Dinuzulu will be king long before her child develops a desire to rule."
Ngqumbazi adjusted her beaded cape and apron. "And how did your father become king?"
Cetshwayo bit his cheek.
She looked at him. Her tears had dried, leaving shiny streaks, and cold resignation had chased the pain from her eyes. "Should I remind you?"
"My father, Mpande, killed his half-brother, Dingane, to become king,"he said evenly.
"And how did Dingane become king?"
Cetshwayo tightened his grip on the iKlawa. "Dingane and Mpande killed their half-brother, Shaka."
She didn't have to ask the next question. Cetshwayo had become king by succession after Mpande died seven years ago, but only after Cetshwayo had done his best to kill his own brother, Mbulazi. The hyenas still picked at the bones of Mbulazi's followers.
"And your own half-brothers plot against you even now,"she said.
"They wouldn't! Not now with the British on our border!"
She smiled. "Wouldn't they? You may have exiled Mbulazi, but both Hamu and Zibhebhu covet your throne. Either of them might change sides and join the British. It's not impossible. John Dunn was once your friend, but he took his Zulu retainers across the river into Natal. Now there will be Zulus fighting along with the British."
Cetshwayo picked up the iKlawa and laid it across his shoulders. He had an urge to check the cattle. It soothed him, and they seemed to like it when he recited poetry and painted their faces. He turned and took the path toward the corral.
"At least get rid of the witch!"Ngqumbazi called after him.
He looked over his shoulder. "She could be our savior."
"She's not!"Ngqumbazi's voice had become hoarse. "She's tricking you into this war. She'll bring death to us all!"
* * * *
Rain fell as if someone had cut the belly of the clouds with a great iKlawa.
Nokukhanya, draped in a blanket, sat next to a village hut that looked over the Ulundi pasture. The hut's sloping roof extended far enough to keep her dry, but it would not last. She would have to get soaked at some point, but by then, greater concerns would occupy her mind. She would once again put her life into the fickle hands of the Zulu king.
The rain could not wash away the stench of ten thousand warriors--the impi. Nokukhanya could scarcely imagine how the pasture held them all, and from her high vantage point, she could see hundreds more snaking through the countryside toward the gathering. The men of the impi had given up on fire, lacking the convenience of shelter, and were trying to escape the rain by sitting with their isiHlangu propped against their backs. Stretched cow hide over a wood frame seemed to work reasonably well as a personal roof. In battle, isiHlangu were even known to serve their actual purpose as shielding against thrown spears. Nokukhanya knew they would be useless against British bullets.
The warriors of the impi had separated themselves into regiments, each several thousand strong. The distance between the regiments was roughly equal to two set fence posts. Zulus of different provinces stared at each other from across this divide, most with looks of suspicion, some with malevolence. There would be no fighting--not yet. But when the dancing started, along with the singing and boasting, Zulus would spill Zulu blood, and even Cetshwayo would not be able to stop it.
The warriors were not always to blame. In past conflicts, Nokukhanya had seen war doctors use magic to stir their hearts, maddening them to the point of lustful massacre. That was why most tribes feared the Zulu. That was why other tribes no longer existed.
Somewhere in this mass of Zulu steel was the regiment from Nokukhanya's province. Earlier, she had spotted the ear coverings made from green monkey hide that distinguished them. She even thought she had seen some of the young men from the Umzansi corral, her Zulu clan. Their isiHlangu were dyed black with only a few white marks--young and inexperienced. She had seen them tremble, their regiment next to the umCityo regiment with their solid white isiHlangu with rows of black marks--gray-headed with scars. Those Zulus remembered the old days Nokukhanya had heard of only in stories--human gore waist deep, the day the Blood River got its name, the days of Shaka.
Movement between the regiments caught her eye. Three Ulundi warriors were escorting a man up the hill toward her.
She stood and stepped into the rain, keeping the blanket around her shoulders.
The man, perhaps in his forties judging by the slight droop under his eyes and uneven saunter caused by his knotted knees, had a strange face for a Zulu. His eyebrows were thick, his nose squashed, and his skin was as dark as river silt. Nokukhanya wondered if all those of the Cube clan looked like this or if he was an anomaly even among them. The only feature she recognized was the long, beaded hair of a diviner.
She interposed herself in their path, causing them to stop.
The leading warrior clenched his jaw. Nokukhanya had snuck past him a month earlier to see the king. The frightened little warrior in the rear was the one she had dragged into the hut.
"You know where we're going,"said the lead warrior. "Get out of the way."
Nokukhanya smiled. "I'm just going to join you."She fell in beside the man as they started off toward the king's reviewing stand.
The diviner glanced at her. "Who are you?"
"Nokukhanya."She enjoyed the chance to build mystery with short answers. Brevity also created the illusion that she had more influence over the situation than she actually had. In truth, her entire future depended on this stranger. "And what is your name?"
"Umpisana."He studied her more closely, this time staring at her ear disks. "Do those hurt?"
She shrugged. "Did your circumcision hurt?"
He grimaced and looked forward. "I suppose you're behind my being here."
"No. Our departed ancestors are behind it. An animal spirit told me to seek you out."
"To do what?"
"Save the Zulu people."
Umpisana chuckled. "Feeling the blade of the British at your back? Not all Zulus feel the threat. The Cube haven't made enemies of the British. Neither have the Qulsi. Why should we care if the white foreigners put you and your king into their corral?"
Nokukhanya suppressed a glare. "Do you really think the British will leave you alone after they finish with us? Don't be a fool!"
His chuckle died in his throat. "What do you think I can do against the British? There's no magic to stop bullets."
Nokukhanya shrugged. "The spirit didn't say. He just named you and your village. I used my influence with the king and had him send an emissary to bargain with you."
"Fifty head of cattle just to come and listen. I couldn't say no."
She looked at him. "What took you so long to get here?"
"I had to make a trip to Natal."
"Natal? What were you doing there?"
His chuckle returned. "Nervous? Think I'm working for the British?"
"You'd better hope I don't. You're about to appear before the Zulu king."
Again, his humor failed him and his eyes widened. "I often go to Natal to make purchases. Cetshwayo has complete control of the glass bead trade, so the Cube are forced to travel to Natal."
Nokukhanya pulled the blanket more tightly around her neck and looked away. He was lying. A man of his standing--a diviner--would not bother with such a simple, time-consuming task. He would probably send one of his wives who had a sense for colors and patterns. She wondered if that old Great One, Tshingwayo, had been right in calling him a sorcerer. The rumor was that sorcerers gained their power by sacrificing children. A Zulu child would be unthinkable, but if he knew he was being summoned by the Zulu king, a brief trip to Natal to kidnap a child from another tribe might not be out of the question.
She studied him from the corner of her eye. He was carrying nothing more than a pouch for powders and herbs. "Where are your things?"
"Well outside of Ulundi,"he said curtly. "Hidden where no one will find them. No need to carry provisions around all day or however long I'm here."
She glanced over her shoulder at the hills of scrub and trees. Was there a child in the wilderness just outside of Ulundi? What if the hyenas found the child before Umpisana returned? What if the hyenas did not find the child and Umpisana returned for his sacrifice? She had come too far now to get weak feet. If it appeared that she had misled the king and the Great Ones and brought Umpisana here by mistake, she might be the first casualty of the war.
* * * *
Cetshwayo sat on the reviewing stand alongside the Great Ones, three war doctors and twenty chiefs from scattered Zulu clans. Pitiless rain created puddles on the worn earth of the village corral, but the stand's thatch roof kept them dry with the exception of a leak right over Hamu's head. They had worked out their strategy for war with the British in quick fashion--before second meal. However, negotiations for the dancing and singing that was the prelude to war were dragging on well into the latter half of the day. The dour and angry faces surrounding him suggested that negotiations were far from over.
"The umCityo regiment must be nearest the reviewing stand!"shouted one. "We are the oldest!"
Cetshwayo regarded the speaker. Dabulamanzi had been pressing his argument from the beginning. His warriors made up nearly a quarter of the umCityo, although Cetshwayo was not sure which specific clan Dabulamanzi belonged to. It was hard to tell province and clan without their full battle regalia. Today, all of the chiefs chose a simple married man's head ring and a warm blanket.
All had backed down from Dabulamanzi's claim except for one.
"Ngobamakosi is the oldest regiment."
Cetshwayo recognized the deep, rumbling voice of Mavumengwana. Indeed, he was older, broad of shoulder and well-scarred. Had he any hair left, it would have been gray, though not as gray as Cetshwayo's old friend, Tshingwayo. Mavumengwana might have been old enough to remember Shaka, but he would have been a child at the time.
"You just say that because you're Shaka's old regiment,"said Dabulamanzi. "But you've had too many replacements. Your isiHlangu are black and clean, but ours are white and marked."
Cetshwayo jumped to his feet with outstretched arms as the two combatants grabbed for weapons.
"Someone's coming,"said one of the war doctors.
The struggling stopped as all eyes turned toward the small procession that approached.
"We'll decide this later,"said Cetshwayo. "Here comes the diviner I told you about. Sit."
There were plenty of glares, but everyone sat down on the wooden floor of the reviewing stand.
Ignoring the rain came three warriors surrounding the woman diviner, Nokukhanya, and a stranger wearing a diviner's long headpiece. They stopped before the stand and the warriors dropped to one knee while Nokukhanya prostrated herself on her stomach. The stranger stood.
Cetshwayo leaned forward and smiled. "You're from the Cube, aren't you?"
The man nodded. "My name is Umpisana."
"All of you rise,"said Cetshwayo. "Even you, Nokukhanya. No Zulu should bow while a Cube stands."
The guards stood.
Nokukhanya rose only to her knees and maneuvered closer to the reviewing stand. "This is the man I told you about. He could be the one who--"
"Shut up, woman!"Cetshwayo shouted. "He may be many things, but I'll decide what use he is to me. And if he fails to live up to your prophecy and I end up fifty head of cattle poorer, I'll stake you out for the lions myself!"
Nokukhanya, shaking, flung herself on her stomach. "Forgive me, Cetshwayo. I'll say nothing more."
Cetshwayo gave her one last glare. When they first had met, he had indulged her rude behavior. Now that the impi was assembled, the chiefs were expecting to see a powerful king, someone who deserved to have their loyalty, someone uncompromising like Shaka.
He turned to Umpisana. "You know war is on the way?"
"More than you know."
Cetshwayo was finding discussions with diviners to be unpleasant at best. "What do you mean by that?"
"I've just been in Natal a week ago,"Umpisana said. "The British have thousands of men on the border. There are oxen and wagons, cavalry, even some Zulus and other tribes all preparing to pour over the border."
Umpisana's words set off a wave of muttering from the chiefs. They were ready for war, willing to spill Zulu blood to win recognition for themselves and their clans. Cetshwayo wondered if they would think differently if they knew they were facing annihilation. "You saw this?"
Umpisana nodded. "They're probably crossing the Tugela River as we speak."
Sihayo leaned in and whispered. "At least we know where we stand. Your offer to pay the fine of cattle was not enough, but they won't catch us napping. The British move slowly, even with horses. They have to stay close to their oxen and supplies. If they're crossing, we'll hear it from runners before they make their first camp."
Cetshwayo rubbed his chin and regarded Umpisana. "What were you doing in Natal?"
"All of the Cube must go to Natal to buy glass beads,"he said. "Diviners have great need of beads."
Cetshwayo looked at Nokukhanya for confirmation.
She nodded, although her eyes reflected dread.
He bit back the urge to yell at her again. Instead, he looked at Umpisana and gestured to Nokukhanya. "This diviner had some sort of vision that you might be able to aid us in our war with the British."Cetshwayo waited for a reaction from the diviner. Seeing none, he continued. "While we need no such magic to defeat the British, it could insult our spirit ancestors if I ignore the vision. If you have magic to defeat the British, I'm willing to pay you for it. Certainly with more cattle. I can also offer glass beads in abundance and your choice of girls from the corral--"
Umpisana raised his hand. "The Zulu king is very generous, and I would accept if I could, but I have no magic to defeat the British."
The chiefs' murmurs were anger-filled, except for Hamu who sputtered a laugh.
Nokukhanya leapt to her feet and stared at Umpisana. She turned to Cetshwayo with pleading eyes. "The animal spirit wouldn't lie! He has the power we need!"
Cetshwayo forced a smile to hide his rising panic. He needed just one advantage or strategy or even a trick that would be useful in this war. He needed a way to stop the ocean of blood. "You can think of no magic to help us? A prayer? A charm against bullets? A potion of strength?"
Umpisana shook his head. "Nothing. May I go now?"
Zulus had a tradition of finding creative and painful methods to put people to death. Cetshwayo guessed those methods were somehow reflected in his expression judging by the horror on Nokukhanya's face.
She turned to Umpisana. "Is there nothing you can do? You must have one spell or one skill that no one else has."
Umpisana bit his lower lip in exaggerated thought. "Well, I have one spell, but it's hardly useful in a war."
"What is it?"Nokukhanya asked.
"I can summon Intulo."
At first, Cetshwayo thought Umpisana was joking, but his eyes were steady and his face cold as a snake's heart.
None of the chiefs dared make a sound, not even Hamu. But the war doctors whispered to each other in harsh tones. One of them spoke up. "Summoning the lizard god is not a spell. That's sorcery! An abomination!"
"Quiet!"Cetshwayo did not have to appease the war doctors like he did the chiefs. They had no power. They would tolerate anything if he paid them in cattle.
Sihayo addressed Umpisana, a slight quiver in his voice. "And what will Intulo do for you?"
"I don't have the power to hold him for very long,"Umpisana said. "He usually has the taste for meat--human flesh--so I'm reluctant to use the spell at all."
Cetshwayo leaned forward. "So he will kill at your command?"
"Oh yes."There was a glimmer in the diviner's eyes. "He wants nothing more than to feast on men. I suspect it's a desire residing in him from his days in this world--before he was elevated to the heavens by uKqil."
Sihayo spoke again. "Could he kill an entire army? The British?"
Umpisana shook his head. "No. I once tested his hunger on a Swazi girl we had captured in a raid. As soon as he bit into her head, severing it, the spell was broken and he disappeared."
"Curse!"Cetshwayo liked the idea of sending a god-like creature into the midst of the British and tearing them to shreds. They'd never return to Zululand. But it was not really his power to do so. It was Umpisana's--a Cube. He could certainly imagine the diviner sending Intulo after him and the Zulu impi.
"Maybe there's still a way,"Sihayo said, speaking softly to Cetshwayo. "If Intulo could kill but one...."
Cetshwayo nodded and spoke to Umpisana. "Could Intulo be ordered to kill a specific man? The general of the British soldiers?"
Umpisana was silent for a moment, tugging at his potion pouch. "Yes, I think so. He is like uKqil--all-knowing. If I told him to eat the leader of the British soldiers, and those soldiers were nearby for me to point at, I think he could do it. But as soon as he killed the man, he would vanish."
Sihayo snapped his fingers. "That might work. Imagine a creature such as Intulo appearing among them and gobbling down their general. They'd run for home!"
Cetshwayo rested his head on his fists and considered the diviner. It might work. And he'd pay Umpisana well if it did. Not that he would ever see the cattle. He could never let a Cube, an enemy, live with that kind of spell.
He glanced at Nokukhanya. She was cowering on her stomach again, no doubt joyous that her life would be spared. He would enjoy fulfilling their arrangement.
She looked up and he nearly gasped. The look of terror was still in her eyes. Why?
"Cetshwayo."
He turned to Hamu.
"If we scare away the British, how will our warriors earn honor in battle?"
"We still have Swazi and Boers to fight,"Cetshwayo said.
"But--"
"Quiet! There will be plenty of opportunity to wash your iKlawa in blood. It is the Zulu path. The spirits put this man before me and I will use him. I can afford to anger queens and generals and politicians ... but not the spirits!"
The ocean of blood was at his feet again. He had to stop it.
He regarded the diviner. "What price?"
Umpisana answered quickly. "Two hundred and fifty head of cattle and ten virgins."
"Done!"Cetshwayo stood.
"And I'll need a hut here in Ulundi all to myself,"Umpisana continued. "And warriors to guard it. My art is secret, and no one must enter. Even if screams are heard from within, no one can ever enter."
Cetshwayo nodded.
"Wait,"one of the war doctors spoke up again. "It's easy to brag about spells and walk away with cattle. Let's see proof of your power."
Umpisana looked at the war doctor and spoke through a clenched jaw. "Calling forth Intulo is hardly something I can do on a whim--"
"I knew it!"said another of the war doctors. "You're a fraud! You'll take the king's cattle and disappear!"
Umpisana's eyes widened. "Proof? You demand proof?"
"Perhaps another time--"Cetshwayo began.
"I'll show you proof!"Umpisana bellowed. He pulled a bound and squirming rat from his potion pouch along with a knife. With a quick movement, he sliced the rat's throat and flung its blood into the eyes of one of the warriors guarding him.
The warrior dropped his iKlawa and isiHlangu and screamed, putting his hands to his face.
The two other warriors looked at Cetshwayo, but he gave no orders, unable to speak.
Umpisana shouted to the rain-filled heavens. "Spirit of Shaka, hear me!"He approached the still blind warrior and cut two crossing slashes on his chest--not deep enough to kill, but more than adequate to cause blood to drench the front of his body.
Umpisana looked up again. "Speak to us, Shaka! I give you the body of this noble Zulu to receive your spirit!"
"Sorcery, Cetshwayo!"said one of the war doctors. "Stop him!"
But he could not stop him. He was fascinated. Could Umpisana really call the spirit of Shaka? It could be a good omen--the spirit of Shaka blessing the Zulu before the battle. And in front of all of the chiefs to hear it.
"No, not Shaka!"
Cetshwayo looked at Tshingwayo. He had never seen fear on the old man's face before, but he saw it now. His voice was a low tremble, like a last prayer. "Not Shaka. Please don't bring him back."
Umpisana's hand dipped into his pouch again and he withdrew a fist-full of white powder which he threw into the warrior's cuts.
The warrior collapsed and began shaking, foam spilling from his mouth.
"Shaka, we are ready to receive your wisdom! Shaka, reveal yourself!"
The warrior became rigid for a moment and then began to move like an old man rising in the morning. He got up on all fours and studied the ground as if never having seen dirt and mud before.
Umpisana turned to the reviewing stand and extended an arm to the warrior. "Shaka!"
The chiefs shifted. No doubt they had heard the awful stories of Shaka, the king who forged the Zulu empire, but few had any firsthand knowledge. Even Cetshwayo and his half-brothers, Hamu and Zibhebhu, blood relatives of their uncle Shaka, had no memory of him.
Only Tshingwayo remembered those days. The old man now flattened himself on the reviewing stand and whimpered.
Umpisana turned back to the warrior. "Stand, Shaka. Give us the wisdom of the spirit world."
The warrior turned his head and looked. He braced his arms on the ground and maneuvered his legs underneath him. Once on his feet, he teetered, a scowl carved deep in his face. "Who are you?"he asked, looking at Umpisana.
"I am simply the diviner who called your spirit forth."
"My spirit?"The warrior's eyes gazed around and stopped on the reviewing stand and on Cetshwayo. He squinted as if trying to see through a fog.
"Who are you?"It was said as a demand.
"I'm Cetshwayo."He glanced at Umpisana, but the diviner gave no instructions.
Cetshwayo looked back to Shaka's host. "I am king of Zululand."
The warrior laughed--the kind of laugh that reminded Cetshwayo of a midnight walk in the frigid rain. "Is that a joke? Little Cetshwayo is with his mother somewhere shitting his baby cloth."The warrior's eyes narrowed. "Why are you in the king's place of honor? Why are you in my place?"
Cetshwayo gulped. "Shaka, you died long ago. Only your spirit is here with us now in the body of a warrior."
"Died?"The warrior looked at his hands, turning them about. "I remember being in the corral. Dingane and Mpande were coming at me with knives--"
Cetshwayo had no experience in speaking with spirits, but this was not the conversation he had envisioned. He needed Shaka to give him a blessing from the spirit world.
"Shaka. We will soon fight the British. Before we send you back to our ancestors, will you give us your blessing?"
The warrior looked at Cetshwayo. "Blessing? No blessing. But I'll do better than that. I'll lead the impi in my rightful place! And after I slice open your belly and leave you to the hyenas, I'll hunt down those traitors, Dingane and Mpande!"
Cetshwayo was about to bellow a curse at Umpisana when Tshingwayo let out a shriek. The old man leapt off the reviewing stand, snatched up the fallen iKlawa and plunged it into the warrior's stomach.
The warrior-host screamed and his legs went limp, but he did not fall. Tshingwayo still held him up by the iKlawa's shaft. He put his weight behind the spear until the steel blade erupted from the warrior's back. He spit in the dying man's face. "Back to the underworld with you, Shaka! Back to the flames!"
At last, Tshingwayo let the warrior drop, blood and bile flowing from his mouth. Before his eyes faded, he rolled his head toward Cetshwayo. "Curse you. Curse you and all who follow you."
* * * *
I am the snake. 
Nokukhanya drifted toward a hut on the outskirts of Ulundi. A cloudy night helped hide her, but the rain had stopped so she had to be mindful of the rustle of her beads.
A single warrior stood at the entrance.
She cursed her poor planning. Had she started earlier, she would not have had to contend with a guard. But she could make do, and magic always helped.
Her hand brushed the panel on her hip--blue beads on Gaboon Viper skin.
I am the snake. 
She approached the rear of the hut and crept around to the front.
The warrior, a young man from the Ulundi corral, leaned on one of his longer throwing spears. His isiHlangu lay nearby.
She moved closer to the entrance. If the warrior looked to his left, she would be discovered. Magic could not make her invisible. But his lazy glances at the quiet village were not a danger. She was nothing more than a snake sliding silently in the dark.
The warrior sighed and squatted.
Nokukhanya darted through the entrance, hoping his movement would mask her own.
Inside, she held her breath and listened.
Nothing.
She stood for a moment to let her breathing return to normal. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadow of the hut, but the weak moonlight leaking in through the entrance was no more than a ghost's breath. She would never see without a candle.
She began to grope about. A low table dominated the hut and on it, a water jug. There were blankets, candles, empty bowls--enough to make a visitor comfortable.
Nokukhanya lay down next to the wall farthest from the entrance and covered herself with a blanket, making a fold to peek through. If she positioned herself well, it would appear as if someone had merely dropped the blanket on the dirt floor.
She did not have to wait long.
Flickering orange bit away at the moonlight. There was the sound of shuffling and the harsh exchange of words.
Umpisana entered with a reed torch in his hand. The flame drenched the hut in bronze, bringing detail to the furnishings Nokukhanya could identify only by touch before. He went straight to the candles and grabbed a few with his free hand.
Umpisana left but returned moments later without the torch and carrying lit candles, which he placed on the table. He took several more candles, lit them and placed them on the table and around the hut. The burning candles caused the air to grow heavy with the smell of cow dung.
Dull yellow light now filled the hut. Nokukhanya gulped down a shiver. She had not been discovered yet, but that was only a matter of time. Her only hope of escape would be a dash for the door. If she was caught, she would have to fight. Umpisana did not look especially strong--perhaps she could overpower him as she had done the young Ulundi warrior in Cetshwayo's hut.
Umpisana left again and returned carrying a pack by its strap and a rolled up blanket slung over his shoulder. The pack gave a metal clank as it slid from his hand to the floor. He gently lowered the rolled blanket onto the table.
The blanket was bound into a log-shape by twine and bulged on one end, tapering at the other. It was the exact shape of a child.
Nokukhanya bit her lip to keep from yelping. How could she have been so blind?
Umpisana opened his pack and withdrew a roll of black leather, something only white men made. He unrolled it, revealing an assortment of bright steel knives, all with tiny blades the size of crickets. She had seen the like before used by white doctors. They called them scalpels.
Umpisana picked up one of the knives and studied its keen edge. He reached for his bundled blanket but then wheeled like a buffalo and ripped away her covering.
Nokukhanya could only roll away.
Umpisana followed, knife poised, until she was trapped sitting against the wall.
She screamed to the guard outside. "Ulundi warrior! Help me!"
Umpisana laughed. "Don't you remember my agreement with Cetshwayo? No one may enter, even if they hear screaming coming from within."
Nokukhanya could not tear her eyes away from the scalpel. She once had seen a British doctor use one to peel away skin from a Zulu patient with the ease of a painter's stroke. She touched the snakeskin panel on her hip and looked into Umpisana's cruel eyes. "I am the Gaboon Viper."
His eyes widened and he took a step back.
It was an easy bluff, one he would figure out in no time.
He took another step back, lowered his knife and smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to scare you. You shouldn't be in here."
Nokukhanya rose, keeping her back against the wall. She eyed the entrance, guessing it would take three full strides to reach it.
But Umpisana seemed to lose interest in her. He put the knife away, knelt and began taking other items from his pack. "What did you hope to find anyway? Or were you just spying on me?"
Her panic ebbed a bit. "I ... I wanted to see.... "She looked at the bundle on the table.
Umpisana looked up and followed her stare. "Still think I'm a sorcerer?"
She flinched as he picked up the knife again, but he went straight to the bundle. He cut a cord and pulled open the very end of the blanket to expose stripped tree branches. "I need a particular type of wood for my fires. I had to cover them to keep them dry."
Nokukhanya leaned toward the bundle for a better look, but he covered the wood back up.
They could be branches. 
"I'm ... sorry for mistrusting you."She took a few tentative steps along the wall toward the entrance.
He ignored her and began unpacking food.
"I heard about your bargain with the king,"he said. "You think you can usurp the Right Hand queen and bear the Zulu king's heir?"
Nokukhanya nodded.
Umpisana took a toy-sized red drum out of his pack and set it aside. "I've been thinking; the lizard spirit was wise in having you bring me here. We're in a struggle greater than I first realized. This approaching war is more important than your petty social climbing or Cetshwayo's nightmares."
Nokukhanya had shuffled all the way around the hut and now had her back to the entrance. She could escape at any time. "What's so important about this war?"
He looked down at the toy drum. "It's about stopping all foreign influence in Zululand and even in Natal and Transvaal. It's about saving all of the tribes, not just the Zulus."He looked at her. "Our children are in love with the white man's ways. They're learning English and Dutch. They're becoming Christians. They seek white medicine, not tribal healing."He looked sadly at the drum. "We're dying."
"But I prefer glass beads,"she said.
He laughed. "So do I sometimes. But with the Europeans gone, we'll be alive again. I can make that kind of sacrifice."
An ironic choice of words, she thought.
"Umpisana?"
He looked at her.
"I never told you it was a lizard spirit that had visited me."
His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments. "I can summon Intulo, the lizard god. It could only have been a lizard spirit."
"Yes. You're right, of course."She turned to leave.
"Wait."
She looked back.
"I must ask a favor of you. I find that I'm in need of a spirit trap."
"A spirit trap? Why?"
"It's necessary for the summoning spell. I don't have the bead weaving skills to do it myself, and only you have the magic to make one."
"But spirit traps are for the spirits of living humans. What good is one for Intulo?"
Umpisana turned abrupt. "It just works. I'll worry about Intulo!"
She nodded. "Two days."
"Faster if you can manage."He turned back to his pack.
She gave the bundle on the table one last look. They might be branches.
It was a long walk back to the hut Cetshwayo had provided her on the far side of the village. Umpisana had almost bluffed his way out of his lizard spirit slip. The explanation was almost believable. But she had never mentioned anything to him about Cetshwayo's nightmares.
A scream pierced the night, causing Nokukhanya to skid to a halt and hold her breath. It started as a low whine and quickly rose to a feral howl, echoing through the sleeping village. It faded to nothingness, leaving her with cold dread. It was the scream of a child.
* * * *
"Umpisana!"
Nokukhanya glared at the guard.
He glared back, not allowing her any closer to the hut.
The mind-dulling throb of two hundred drums stopped and the chant of the three thousand warriors from the Ulundi regiment died with it.
"Umpisana!"She could hear her own voice this time, but the ringing in her ears made it seem like a distant call.
Umpisana appeared, scowling. His scowl dissolved when he looked into her face. He came running over. "What is it?"
"War doctors!"
Umpisana started a quick trot across the village toward the pasture.
Nokukhanya ran next to him.
The drums began again and another regiment took up its song. The entire impi was assembled away from the village in the pasture next to the Ulundi corral, but their song was so loud that Umpisana had to yell for Nokukhanya to hear.
"What are they doing?"
"I'm not sure,"said Nokukhanya. "They dug a shallow pit and started putting things around it--a broken iKlawa, an old bowl, a beaded collar. I asked an Ulundi woman what they were, and she said they were Shaka's possessions. They bring them out for special ceremonies, but the war doctors got a hold of them and placed them around the pit."
They passed the last hut in Ulundi and went down the hill that led to the corral and pasture. The impi, twenty thousand warriors strong, stretched before them. The king's reviewing stand was situated at the end of the pasture near the corral.
The impi had transformed from the quiet men sitting under their isiHlangu to escape the rain Nokukhanya had seen three days earlier. They still remained separated into their regiments, but they had replaced their drab head rings and blankets with war regalia. And like their songs and dances, their battlewear was distinctive by regiment. Some wore leopard loin coverings while others preferred otter fur. Feathers of every kind lashed like whips as warriors danced to the drums. All warriors wore flowing ox tails, some around their biceps and knees, others as neck coverings. Officers distinguished themselves with fur capes.
The umCityo regiment was now center focus, singing their war song while dancing with a right-footed double hop and a thrust with the iKlawa. Their isiHlangu waved like great fans, creating a cooling wind throughout the pasture.
The noise was deafening. Nokukhanya wanted to cover her ears, but she needed her hands free to communicate. She tapped Umpisana on the arm and pointed at the reviewing stand. Cetshwayo stood there flanked by the Great Ones and the chiefs, all dressed for war with weapons at their sides. They watched the umCityo regiment perform, their faces as severe as the call for killing in the song.
There was another smaller ceremony occurring next to the reviewing stand.
Nokukhanya and Umpisana moved closer.
Three war doctors in long beaded headdresses, similar to those of diviners, stood near a pit no deeper than a man's arm. They used hands to beat out a lively rhythm on drums tucked under one arm. They chanted, even though their words were lost in the din of the war song. A fourth war doctor was directing a line of warriors along one side of the pit. A warrior walked forward and the war doctor gave him a drink from a cup, which caused him to vomit. The war doctor turned the warrior so that he vomited into the pit. The sick warrior then joined his regiment and another moved up to add his vomit to the pit.
Umpisana pointed to the war doctors and bellowed at Cetshwayo. "Make them stop!"
There was no way to be heard over the singing and drums. If the king or anyone else on the reviewing stand saw Umpisana gesturing, they ignored him.
Nokukhanya studied Cetshwayo. Aside from his fierce expression, she noticed his eyes were bloodshot and he was not blinking. She grabbed Umpisana's arm and put her lips to his ear. "Watch out! They've been smoking dagga!"
Umpisana pushed her away and walked in front of the reviewing stand waving his hands. Again he yelled and gestured at the war doctors, but he was too far away for Nokukhanya to hear his words.
Cetshwayo's eyes flashed and he bellowed something back.
Umpisana gave no response.
Cetshwayo grabbed a throwing spear from one of the chiefs and lobbed it at the diviner's chest.
Umpisana dived away and the spear buried itself in the muddy earth.
Cetshwayo and the chiefs laughed as Umpisana came running back to Nokukhanya. He stopped next to her and brushed mud off of his body. "He said 'no.'"
Nokukhanya and Umpisana watched as the war doctors ended the procession of warriors. One war doctor jumped into the knee-deep vomit with a rhinoceros-horn ladle while another spread a piece of leather on the ground next to the pit. The war doctor in the pit began to ladle vomit onto the leather.
After several ladle-fulls, the war doctor next to the pit motioned for the first to stop his scooping. He then began to sew the ends of the leather together, trapping the vomit inside. Both ends of a bead rope were attached to the vomit bag.
Nokukhanya felt Umpisana's grip on her arm, and she was pulled back toward the village. By the time they were halfway back to his hut, the noise had diminished to the point where they could carry on a conversation.
"What was that thing?"Nokukhanya asked.
"It's called the 'national ring,'"he said. "It's strange magic--probably the most powerful magic the war doctors have."
"What does it do?"
"I'm not sure. I've heard of it only in stories. Powerful protection, I know that much."
"Why did you want them to stop?"
Umpisana stopped and turned to her, anger in his eyes. "War doctors are just troublemakers. Schemers. They want to stop me from calling Intulo."
Nokukhanya rattled her head. "I don't understand. How will the national ring stop your spell?"
"It just will! Do you have the spirit trap ready?"
"Yes. But I--"
"Good,"he said. "Let's hurry."
They ducked into his hut, which blocked enough noise to allow them to speak without yelling.
Umpisana went to the table where a blanket hid what appeared to be a small body. "You know if we fail, Cetshwayo will kill us both."
She hesitated, staring at the shroud.
"Did you hear me? Your life depends on my success. You know that, don't you?"
She forced herself to look at him. Her voice sounded weak. "I ... yes, I understand ... but--"
He turned to the table. "This is not the time for weak feet. There's no turning back, and we have to hurry."He pulled the blanket away.
Nokukhanya found herself sitting against the wall, Umpisana shaking her back to wakefulness. Her throat was sore and her chest hurt as if she had screamed out every bit of air in her lungs. A red blotch of a nightmare clung to her--a nightmare about a butcher, but he was not butchering a cow.
Umpisana helped her up and guided her toward the table. Her legs buckled as the reality of the nightmare presented itself. Umpisana caught her and forced her to look. It was a boy, although there was little left to tell. Instead of being butchered open like a cow, his skin had been filleted off, revealing red meat and white tendons. Every bit of skin was gone, even the scalp. It was impossible even to tell if the boy had been native or European.
She choked back her bile and looked closer into his face.
The boy's eyes shifted and looked back.
Again, she found herself being helped back to her feet.
"You've got to stop fainting. We're in haste."
Nokukhanya fought down a heave in her stomach. "You ... mm ... monster!"
"Perhaps,"he said. "But if this monster fails, we're both dead."
He let her stand, swaying, and walked around the far side of the table where a scalpel sat next to the boy. "Of course, you wouldn't have any appreciation for the art this entails, would you?"
She gawked at him. "Art? The art of torture? The art of keeping someone alive while you remove his skin?"
His face twisted into a snarl. "Yes, art! Finding just the right tools, perfecting the spell, keeping the body moist and free of infection for days. It's pure art."
Hysteria ate at her. "You're insane!"
He sputtered a laugh. "Hardly. The spell is an old one. It's usually done with cattle to summon minor spirits. I discovered it could be used to summon gods. All it required was a young human sacrifice."
"Let him go,"she said weakly. "Let him die."
"He's really not suffering anymore,"Umpisana said. "The process drives them mad in the early stages. I'm sure his mind is in a happier place. But I hear your plea. We both must hurry. Where is the spirit trap?"
Nokukhanya reached into a pocket in her maiden's apron and pulled it out. It was nothing more than a drawstring pouch covered in green and white beads woven in a wedge pattern. The beads, infused with magic, made it work.
Umpisana grinned at the sight of it. "Cover his nose and mouth with the trap's opening. All I have to do is cut off one remaining patch of skin. The spell will then end and he'll die, releasing his spirit."
She complied. She wondered if the pouch on the boy's body caused him pain, but he gave no reaction. Maybe Umpisana had told the truth and the boy was well away from this world and his horrible ending.
"I'm sorry,"she whispered. She struggled not to cry, afraid that her salty tears might hurt him.
"That's right,"Umpisana said, looking on. He picked up the scalpel and regarded its edge.
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
Umpisana's eyes shifted. "He's near death. If he dies, we'll fail and we will both die."
"But you weren't in a hurry when I called you out to see the war doctors."
"Yes I was. The war doctors were more important at the time."
Liar! He mentioned the need for haste only after seeing the national ring--magical protection for Cetshwayo.
Umpisana cut into the boy.
Nokukhanya shuddered as the boy unleashed his last agonized scream. Evidently his mind was not so far gone as to ignore his body's demise. As the boy's eyes closed and his lungs emptied, the spirit bag filled. She drew the strings tight and tied them off.
Umpisana beamed at her. "Success! You've ensured both of our lives. Give me the trap."
For the first time in the day, she had a reason to smile.
Umpisana's smile did not last. "I said, give it to me."
She made a side step toward the entrance.
Umpisana's hand tightened on the scalpel and he leapt across the table at her.
Nokukhanya easily evaded him and ran for the entrance. She turned to face him as he sprawled on the floor. "What's your hurry now? You won't need the trap until you're ready to cast the spell--when you're before the British soldiers. Of course, by then, Cetshwayo will be wearing the national ring, won't he?"
Umpisana pointed the scalpel at her. "Give it to me now or you'll end up like this boy!"
She shivered at the threat but refused to show fear. "I'm not powerless, Umpisana. And even if you find a way to capture me, I'll have hidden the trap so you'll never find it. You'll have to wait for the battle with the British."
She turned and left.
Umpisana bellowed rage from within the hut. The Ulundi guard glanced back at the entrance and then at her as she passed.
Nokukhanya smiled. "Your orders are not to go in, remember?"
Cetshwayo took a drink from the water jug, replaced the stopper and set it aside.
It was sunny at midday, and plenty of light from the hut's entrance meant they could save the candles--if there were any candles or even huts left when they returned.
"You haven't run with your warriors for twenty years,"said Ngqumbazi. She was wearing all of her beaded accessories--cape, head piece, belt and apron, anklets and bracelets. What she could not wear she was tying off in a bundle to carry.
"I'll keep up,"he said. "Besides, I won't be the problem. For some reason that woman diviner, Nokukhanya, is coming along."He placed the national ring around his neck and put on his ostrich-feather headdress. "Are my feathers straight?"
Ngqumbazi stood and began fiddling with the feathers, prodding them into place. "Who will lead the buffalo's chest?"
"Tshingwayo."
She stopped fiddling and looked at him. "Tshingwayo is seventy years old!"
"He can run half a day at a near sprint and fight a battle afterward."
She snorted. "His bladder is weak. He'll have to take a dozen breaks before you even reach the British. Who will lead the buffalo's horns?"
"Mavumengwana will lead the left horn. Dabulamanzi, the right."
Ngqumbazi went back to her packing, turning her attention to the leopard furs. "Have those two settled their differences?"
"It doesn't matter. They'll be far away from each other, attacking from opposite sides while Tshingwayo leads the chest straight on."
He picked up his iKlawa and two throwing spears and glanced around. "I must have left my isiHlangu outside."
Ngqumbazi threw down the furs and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. "I'll never see you again! I've heard there are thousands of British soldiers crossing the Tugela River!"
He hugged her, feeling hot tears on his chest. "We'll win. You'll see."
She pushed herself away. "You still think those two diviners will save us? Look what they've done for you already. After that curse from Shaka's spirit, half the chiefs took their warriors and went home. Instead of forty thousand warriors, you only have twenty thousand!"
Cetshwayo felt his anger rise. "I should've killed that diviner--killed them both!"
"You still can,"she said. "Send warriors and be done with them. They're bad luck."
He shook his head. The diviners were all he had left. If the spell to summon Intulo did not work, the impi would charge into British rifle fire--his nightmare revealed.
He looked at her. "I'm leaving fifty warriors with Dinuzulu. He'll take you and all of the women up into the hills until we return."
"You want her to succeed! You're looking forward to marrying her! I've seen the way you look at her. It's the way you used to look at me!"
Cetshwayo picked up his water jug. "Is it such a bad bargain? If she saves the Zulus the only price is she'll become my wife. And I'll have to pay Umpisana some more cattle, of course."
Ngqumbazi took another step back and, as quick as a snake strike, pulled a knife from her apron.
At first, Cetshwayo thought she was going to attack, but instead, she held it up for him to see.
"Not a bad bargain at all,"she said, giving him a heartless smile. "I'll even bless your wedding night. But I swear by my ancestors, I'll kill her the next day!"
* * * *
Cetshwayo tossed his headdress and iKlawa aside and crawled up the side of the hill, Tshingwayo close behind.
The rocky bluffs in this part of Zululand were desolate for most of the year, but the heavy rain and yesterday's sun had sprinkled patches of color among the gray rocks. Fragrant wild flowers pushed up from every crevice deep enough to hold a handful of dirt, and grass brushed the hills in soft green.
They reached the top and peered over.
Tshingwayo pointed. "There! With their backs against Isandlwana!"
In the valley was the British army. At least a thousand men milled about feeding cooking fires, tending horses and oxen, pitching tents and cleaning weapons. Indeed, they had chosen to rest at the foot of the butte Tshingwayo had named--Isandlwana. Almost all of the soldiers wore bright jackets, turning the valley into a sea of red.
Tshingwayo used his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. "Something's wrong."
Cetshwayo studied the British more closely. The oxen-pulled wagons had not been circled around the resting army. The Boers used the defensive circling technique with deadly affect. The British knew this strategy too, but were neglecting it. Were they so confident they thought it unnecessary? Were they so powerful?
One of the closest wagons caught his eye. The oxen had been unhitched and a dozen men surrounded it using planks and branches as levers. The wagon's wheels were half sunk in mud.
Tshingwayo looked at him and grinned. "They're stuck! Who would've thought this rain would be a blessing? The water will save us!"
Cetshwayo nodded at his old friend, but he knew the water would not save them. It was just a wishful thought. British bullets would harvest Zulus like millet.
A column of cavalry broke away from camp riding two abreast. They snaked away, hugging the hills to avoid the muddy flatland.
Cetshwayo shook his head. "Why are they splitting their forces?"
Tshingwayo snapped his fingers. "The spirits favor us. We can forget the diviner and his magic. You should order the attack."
"No."
Tshingwayo hesitated for a moment. "Why not?"
Cetshwayo turned away and sat, looking down the hill. "Bullets, rockets, cannon...."
Tshingwayo sighed and sat next to him. "The warriors have been singing and dancing for three days. You heard the boasting."
Cetshwayo nodded. The boasting had started the first day, and he had been powerless to stop it. An umCityo regimental warrior had approached the reviewing stand and announced he would be the first to kill a British soldier and wear his red jacket. A warrior from the Ngobamakosi regiment strutted forward and said he would break off the strangely bearded jaw of one of the British soldiers and present it to the king.
The first countered that the umCityo were better singers.
The second proclaimed the Ngobamakosi to be better dancers.
Yelling broke out including plenty of pointing and name-calling, but as soon as the accusation of "weak feet"was shouted, weapons were raised.
Thirteen had died before Cetshwayo and the chiefs could restore order.
"Remember the boasts made,"said Tshingwayo. "Honor is at stake."
"I remember,"said Cetshwayo. "But they'll follow my orders."
"You'll make yourself vulnerable. Hamu will seize upon their anger and bring war against you. You'll never be safe."
Cetshwayo laughed. "No Zulu is ever truly safe. Except perhaps my exiled brother, Mbulazi, living alone in Natal like a toothless lion."
He stood. "Send a runner. Bring the impi up to the valley on the other side of this hill--absolute silence. And bring the diviners and chiefs to me."
Tshingwayo nodded, scampered down the hill and trotted off.
Cetshwayo peeked over the hill again.
The British almost had one of their wagons free of the mud. He counted twenty still stuck fast.
The enemy had the advantage in pure killing power, but he had an advantage in numbers. He could move twenty thousand Zulus into spear-throwing distance without the British ever knowing.
If the diviner's magic failed, he would attack. The Zulus probably would be slaughtered to the man, but at least they would draw enough blood to earn themselves a name in the list of epic battles the British were so fond of recounting.
* * * *
Cetshwayo looked from eye to eye: the chiefs; Hamu, his plotting brother; Sihayo, his closest ally; old Tshingwayo; the two diviners. He even spared a glance at the one hundred warriors from the Ngobamakosi regiment who acted as their guard while they were exposed.
The warriors, conspicuous with their leopard headbands decorated with a single red feather, stood rigid, shoulders back and chests forward.
He was king of the impi--king of the Zulus, and even though it was a dangerous thought, he felt he could lead the attack straight into the smoking fire of the British.
By the looks he received in return, they felt it too. Even Hamu's eyes gleamed with pride.
The ocean of blood. 
Cetshwayo rattled his head to clear the thought. He would not order the attack, not yet. Not until all was lost and death no longer mattered.
He looked at Tshingwayo. "Where are the war doctors?"
The old man shrugged. "The diviners would come only if the war doctors stayed behind."
Cetshwayo, jaw clenched, turned toward Nokukhanya.
She shook her head, eyes wide. "Not me--him."She pointed at Umpisana who stood some twenty paces away from her.
Cetshwayo had noticed that the two diviners stayed far apart for the entire trip across Zululand.
Umpisana nodded. "You don't need war doctors. They're just foolish old men full of superstitions."
"I make those decisions!"Cetshwayo pointed his iKlawa at the diviner. "You've been a curse to me ever since you arrived--refusing to bow down, angering Shaka's spirit, screams coming from your hut. If this magic doesn't work, you'll lead the attack with nothing more than your bare hands!"
Umpisana gave a controlled, almost mocking smile. "I assure you, the magic will work to perfection."
Cetshwayo glared at him. "Then do it!"
The diviner glanced about. "Perhaps fewer guards. We don't want to be seen."
Cetshwayo gnawed his lower lip and thought. Once they moved from behind the hill, they would be in view of the British, but they would be so far away, they would probably go unnoticed. Still, fewer numbers would help their need to remain hidden.
He pointed. "Hamu, Sihayo, Tshingwayo and five warriors."He led the way into the open, British soldiers looking like ants with the butte rising above them.
"Hurry."Cetshwayo squatted to lessen his profile as did the others. Only the diviners remained standing.
"The woman will approach,"said Umpisana.
Nokukhanya shot Cetshwayo a frightened look before joining Umpisana.
Cetshwayo guessed that Umpisana's refusal to use her name was a result of some sort of rift. They could kill each other for all he cared. That would solve several problems. Just as long as they cast the spell first.
Umpisana pulled a small bound lizard from his pouch, gave it a quick cut and set it on the ground.
It hissed and thrashed while its blood oozed.
The diviner unslung a drum from his shoulder and began tapping out a quick cadence while circling the lizard in a shuffling dance.
Cetshwayo regarded the British forces again. There was little sign of movement. Even if they were spotted and soldiers were sent to attack, it would be too late. Intulo would rear up among them and devour their general. The rest would flee in terror.
A gasp from Tshingwayo caused Cetshwayo to look back. The tiny lizard had tripled in size, breaking its bonds. It writhed, and its hiss turned into a tortured growl. A bulbous swell grew on its back and when its skin could withstand it no longer, it burst, exposing a glistening, green tube open on its end.
The smell of decay was thick.
The tube, three fists wide and as long as a throwing spear, swayed and pulsated. Cetshwayo, his horror having sucked away his breath, had the impression that the tube was waiting for something, sniffing for it.
"The spirit trap!"Umpisana roared. "Feed it the trap!"
Spirit trap? Cetshwayo forced away his doubts--the screams from Umpisana's tent. He knew there would be a price beyond cattle and girls, but it was worth paying to be rid of the British.
Nokukhanya hesitated, staring at the searching tube.
Umpisana buried a fist in her stomach, sending her to the ground. He snatched a bulging, bead-adorned bag from her hip belt and kicked her over when she tried to rise. He then lobbed the bag into the tube's opening.
There was a popping sound and a few stray beads spewed from the opening.
The speed of the events was confusing, but Cetshwayo was certain he saw the ghostly image of a child's head peeking out of the tube's opening with terrified and pleading eyes. With a whoosh the head was sucked into the tube.
There was a sound of crunching bones and splitting cartilage as the lizard underwent a new change, adding clawed arms, stout legs and a scale-armored backbone. Worst of all was its crocodile head with rows of teeth and maniacal intelligence behind cold eyes.
It stood a full fence post taller than the tallest man Cetshwayo had ever seen.
Umpisana approached the beast with arms spread. "Intulo. We are honored by your presence."
The lizard god remained motionless, eyes on the diviner.
Cetshwayo noticed Nokukhanya staggering to her feet. She cradled her stomach and coughed.
"Intulo, for appearing at my request, I will give you a gift--fresh human meat. A blood-feast all for you!"
Intulo gave a quick snap of his jaws, sending a shiver up Cetshwayo's back.
Umpisana pointed. "Intulo, I give you Cetshwayo, king of the Zulus!"
"Traitor!"someone shouted--it might have been Sihayo, but Cetshwayo did not have time to think about it. The image of death in the form of the lizard god was stomping toward him. He barely had time to jump and grab his weapons. A few spears from the warriors glanced off Intulo's hide with no effect.
Fear betrayed his legs and he stumbled. But before Intulo could pounce, the national ring, which hung from his neck, burst. What issued forth was not three-day-old stewed vomit, but a midnight mist that swirled before Intulo, stopping his advance.
The mist took the solid form of a Zulu warrior, pure black and featureless like carved stone. It held an iKlawa in one hand and an isiHlangu in the other. On its head was an ostrich-feather headdress, also black and stone-like. Standing as tall as Intulo, it pointed its weapon at the lizard god.
"Kill him!"Umpisana raged. "Kill Cetshwayo!"
Intulo stepped to the side, but the warrior spirit mirrored him.
Umpisana bellowed in pain.
Cetshwayo chanced a look and saw Nokukhanya backing away from Umpisana, a knife in her hand.
Blood flowed from Umpisana's side and he dropped to his knees. "Kill Nokukhanya! Kill the witch!"
Intulo wheeled and sprang toward Nokukhanya.
Cetshwayo turned to his spirit guardian. "Stop him! Kill Intulo!"
But the guardian merely lowered its weapon and stood.
Nokukhanya had no chance for escape. She could not even raise her knife in defense, not that it would have done any good.
Intulo snapped down, severing her torso from her hips. He then vanished without a sign.
The spirit guardian disappeared with him.
Tshingwayo rushed forward. "Are you hurt?"
Cetshwayo stood and retrieved his iKlawa and isiHlangu. "I'm fine, but it would've been better if Intulo had killed me."
The old man gave him a cross look. "Why do you say that?"
"Now, I will preside over the death of the Zulu people. If any of us survive this battle, we'll be forced to watch the British change our ways, our religion, our rightful place in Africa."
Cetshwayo and Tshingwayo walked over to the others as they raised their iKlawa and surrounded the crawling Umpisana. Two warriors grabbed the diviner and pulled him to his knees.
He looked up at Cetshwayo, blood oozing from his smile.
Cetshwayo resisted the urge to strike. "Who?"
Umpisana coughed a bit. "Why, your brother, Mbulazi of course. He didn't want you to forget about his exile in Natal."
"And you contrived everything? My dreams? Nokukhanya's spirit messenger?"
The diviner nodded. "Everything. And I would've killed you in the village and escaped had Nokukhanya not become suspicious."
Cetshwayo glanced at Nokukhanya. Even with his battle experience, her remains were difficult to look at. "She died to save me--to save the Zulus."He wondered what his wife would say.
"Your end comes either way,"said Umpisana. "You've called the impi and now you must fight and die. Your brother hardly cares about the method of your death."
Cetshwayo motioned to Sihayo.
Sihayo thrust his iKlawa down into the diviner's chest and withdrew it in a spout of blood.
The warriors let him fall. The rocky ground would not accept the blood, and it flowed around Cetshwayo's feet like water.
The sound of running caused them all to turn. The other Ngobamakosi regimental warriors were approaching, evidently sensing that something was wrong.
Sihayo waved his arms and shouted. "No! Go back! We'll be seen!"
Cetshwayo put a hand on Sihayo's shoulder. "It's all right. Now is the time to strike."
He turned to a warrior. "Give the order to Mavumengwana--take the buffalo's left horn and attack south. Dabulamanzi is to lead the buffalo's right horn and attack from the north."
The warrior sprinted off.
Hamu stepped forward. "I have two thousand warriors. Where do you want me?"
Cetshwayo smiled and slapped his half-brother's shoulder. "Join Tshingwayo. He will lead the buffalo's chest."
Hamu smiled in return.
Cetshwayo took strange comfort in Hamu's loyalty. Were these peaceful days, they would be plotting the other's assassination. Now, they would die together on the battlefield.
"Cetshwayo...."
He wheeled, iKlawa raised.
Umpisana, whom he had assumed was dead, was back on his knees, a scowl on his face.
"Cetshwayo. I remember when your mother would suckle you during the reed gathering."
Tshingwayo raised his iKlawa. "Your magic can't keep you alive forever!"
Cetshwayo grabbed the old man's weapon. "It's not Umpisana--it's Shaka!"
Tshingwayo lowered the spear. "Shaka?"Fear infected his voice and it dropped to a whisper. "Not Shaka!"
"Cetshwayo. You're really king of the Zulus?"
Cetshwayo nodded, tight grip on his weapon.
"You want to defeat the British?"
His breath caught in his throat, but he managed a nod again.
"You are attacking with the buffalo charge? The horns on each side and the chest in the middle?"
"Let me kill him, Cetshwayo,"said Tshingwayo in a croaking voice. "Let me send him away to the eternal suffering he deserves."
"No, not yet!"He turned to Shaka's host. "Tell me. How do I defeat the British?"
"Keep three regiments in the buffalo's loins."
"The buffalo's loins?"Cetshwayo slapped his iKlawa against his isiHlangu. "I don't know what that means! Buffalo's loins?"
"Don't be impatient!"Shaka said with a growl. "Keep three regiments behind the chest, not to attack. But they must be the best regiments--the Ngobamakosi, the umCityo and the Ombane."
Tshingwayo turned to Cetshwayo. "Three regiments? They'll go insane with the killing lust! They'll revolt!"
"Tshingwayo? Is that you?"
Tshingwayo looked at Shaka's host, loathing in his eyes. "You have no sway over me anymore. You're a worthless ghost!"
Shaka laughed. "You're old now, but when you struck me down at my first return, your thrust was that of a true Zulu. You will be in command of the buffalo's loins. Order them to turn their backs to the battle so that they will not be enraged by the killing lust. After three charges by the buffalo's chest, let them loose."
Tshingwayo looked at Cetshwayo. "I don't know...."
"Do it, and be quick!"said Cetshwayo. "Pull those regiments and hold them back!"
The old man shook his head, turned and ran off toward the valley where the impi was hidden.
Cetshwayo pointed at Sihayo and Hamu. "You two will lead the buffalo's chest. Bring me back red jackets to prove your victory."
They struck iKlawa against isiHlangu and sped away, taking the warrior guards with them.
Cetshwayo was left alone. He looked at Umpisana--Shaka's host. "You've done it. You'll save the Zulu people."
Umpisana's eyes turned lifeless and his body pitched forward. He slowly rolled to face upward. Shaka's voice was labored and distant. "This is my revenge, you fool. My revenge for the betrayal of your father and his half-brother who assassinated me. You'll defeat the British today, but they'll come back looking for you--looking for revenge--and they'll turn Zululand into an ocean of blood."
* * * *
At the Battle of Isandlwana, 1879, most in the British invasion force headed for Ulundi were killed, including 800 soldiers, 52 officers and 500 native allies. Nearly 400 survived by escaping on foot or on horse. An estimated 3000 Zulus of the 20,000 strong impi died. 
The British learned a costly lesson and became more diligent in encircling their camps with wagons. 
The Battle of Isandlwana will always be a part of British military lore. It was one of the last engagements in which the British wore red jackets. 
After three more bloody engagements that year, Cetshwayo was captured and exiled to London. He returned to Zululand in 1883 to act as a puppet king for the British, but a rival Zulu clan with the aid of the Boers chased him into hiding. He died in 1884. 
Cetshwayo's son, Dinuzulu, inherited the Zulu throne that year. 
Shaka, his blood relatives, and their descendants have controlled the Zulu throne from 1781 to the current day. At the writing of this story, Goodwill Zwelethini is king of Zululand, now called KwaZulu-Natal province, part of South Africa. His position is purely ceremonial.